


White's Grilled Cheese Sandwich (i know i'm bad at titles guys)

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Reservoir Thots [8]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Married Couple, Married Life, White Is A Fully Fledged Chef
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: married life w/ mr. white, requested by anon on tumblr ♥





	White's Grilled Cheese Sandwich (i know i'm bad at titles guys)

You squint at the rays of sunlight poking through the curtains beside the bed and roll over, shielding your eyes. The sound of wet footsteps is barely audible, and you can hear the sweet birds tweeting away outside. Yawning, you stretch over and, trying to grab the clock from your bedside table, accidentally knock it off. You lean over the side of the bed and pick it up lazily, peering at the hands– nearly a quarter past ten.  _“I should probably get up…”_  you think to yourself, sighing and slowly pushing yourself out of bed.

Idly, you shuffle into the en-suite to brush your teeth. You brush them without much care, it being late morning, and after running a comb through your hair, head to the living room. 

Your older husband, Larry, is chilling on the couch– feet on the coffee table, ciggy in one hand, newspaper in the other. He senses you and turns his head to admire you in the morning glow. “Mornin’, beautiful,” he says softly, popping the cig between his lips and patting the couch beside him. His hair is damp and he’s lounging in one of his old Hawaiian shirts and baggy shorts.

“Just been in the shower?” you ask, joining him on the couch and letting him give you a kiss on the cheek. 

“Uh-huh. You sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you smile. “Did Eddie get back to you?”

“Yeah, says there’s a meetin’ tomorrow afternoon. But I don’t think I’ll be gone long.” He wraps his strong arm around you, sighing contently. “You want me to fix you a nice breakfast, sweetie?”

“Nah, I’m not that hungry. I’ll just have an early lunch.” You look down at your wedding ring, admiring the sweet glint of the diamond. It was understandable that your friends had suspected you got with Larry for his money, but that was far from the truth. The two of you had met at a local taco place– one of the employees was being an asshole to you and Larry had intervened (while his colleague Freddy just awkwardly stood there). He had then insisted on paying for your tacos– not a conventional love story, but it was a fond one nonetheless. Admittedly, you enjoyed the fact that he was well off financially, but it was never a factor in you falling in love with him. Having an older husband comes with its perks and its downsides. It was something you had to adjust to, but it was fine– you hung out with Larry’s colleagues now anyways, often joining them for breakfast.

“Alright, princess,” he says, placing a hand on your thigh and turning his attention back to the newspaper. You both sit in a comfortable silence, enjoying the lazy morning atmosphere. 

* * *

 

As midday hits, a pang of hunger hits your tummy. Larry is washing the dishes in the next room while you’re doing the ironing, and the sound of the radio faintly echoes around the house. “Honey,” you call, placing one of his Hawaiian shirts on the pile, “I’m gettin’ hungry, can you make me something?” He appears in the doorway in seconds. 

“What would you like, sweetheart?”

You think for a second. “Grilled cheese sandwich?” 

“Just what the doctor ordered,” he grins, slipping an arm around your waist and kissing your cheek. “Won’t be long.” With his hand barely grazing your ass, Larry heads back to the kitchen to make your lunch. While he’s busy doing that, you’re flicking through the channels on the TV when the home phone rings. Wondering who the fuck could possibly be calling, you hurry to the hall and answer it.

“Mrs. Dimmick speaking, hello?” you say politely, and a familiar voice full of warmth replies.

“Hey (Y/N)! How are ya?”

“Fine, Ed, how’s you?” You walk to the kitchen and lean against the counter, watching your husband. He mouths  _‘Who is it?’_ at you, and you nod at the noticeboard full of polaroids– they mostly consisted of drunk pictures of him and Eddie, and he got the message, smiling at you.

“I’m good, is the fuckhead there?”

“Who, Larry?” you smile.

“Correctamundo.”

“Yeah, he’s making me lunch, do you want him?”

“Just tell him to call me back sometime today, I don’t wanna cockblock on his day off.” You can practically hear him grinning at himself.

“Don’t be gross! Are you sure you don’t want me to pass the phone now?”

“Nah, I gotta call Pink, Brown turned up at my fuckin’ doorstep earlier this mornin’ complaining about Pink bein’ an asshole to him, so I guess that’s my job to sort out now.”

“Oh Jesus, good luck with that one,” you giggle.

“Yeah, thanks. Hey– tell him he’s a motherfucker love from me.”

“Darling,” you say to Larry, and he turns around. “Eddie says he loves you and wants to fuck you.”

“Hey! That’s  _not_ what I fuckin’ said!”

“That’s what you get for being a meanie,” you smirk.

“Whatever. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Alright– byebye Eddie!” you say, doing a ‘muah’ with your lips so he can hear.

“Seeya, honey,” he says, and you hang up. 

“Eddie?” asks your husband, cutting your sandwich into triangles. You nod. “Ah, what’d he want?”

“He wants you to call him back today, I don’t know what it’s about,” you say, standing beside him and leaning your elbow on the counter. He gazes at you, momentarily distracted by your beauty.

“Oh, I’ll probably call him after you’ve fallen asleep,” he says, kissing your forehead. 

You smile. “Thanks, daddy.”

Larry bites his inner lip, studying you for a second. It always got him going, you calling him daddy. In a way, he  _was_ that to you– he took care of you in any way he could, all because he thought the absolute world of you. Lightly caressing your waist, he presses a long kiss to your forehead. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he sighs. Larry always made sure to remind you how mesmerising you were to him, and although you would protest, you knew he wasn’t ever lying. No matter how you looked– made up and glamorous, first thing in the morning or sick as a dog. To him, you were a goddess.

He pushes the plate next to you on the countertop and grins at you. “Eat up, sweetie.”


End file.
